Broomstick Races
by TreacleTart301
Summary: Although your hair is the same bright red that it's always been, the fire that used to burn inside of you has noticeably diminished. All that's left is smoke and ash.
I see you at your brother's funeral. It's been ages since I've seen you last and the years have certainly taken their toll. Although your hair is the same bright red that it's always been, the fire that used to burn inside of you has noticeably diminished. All that's left is smoke and ash.

Something in your expression mirrors the turmoil inside of me. You are fighting a battle and every part of me wants to help you, but I know a funeral isn't the right place, so I keep my thoughts to myself. Instead I offer a sympathetic smile and some hollow words that don't even scratch the surface of your grief. It's inadequate, but it's all I can do for now.

That evening, I sit in The Three Broomsticks, swirling a glass of Pixie's Milk in my hand. Your dull eyes and your tear streaked face won't seem to leave me be and my choice of drink isn't helping to drown your memory either. I feel disappointed with myself for not reaching out to you, for failing to bring you any small modicum of solace.

I'm deep in my analysis of the milky white substance in my glass when the chair next to me is pulled out. I glance up and see a flash of fiery red. My heart beats wildly, attempting to break out of its confines.

"This seat taken?" you ask as you slide the chair from its place.

Words freeze in my throat, so instead I shake my head in response.

You give me a small smile. "After today, I could use a drink."

"I imagine so," I finally manage to murmur. "I'm really sorry for your loss, you know. Fred was a great bloke. We'll all miss him."

"Do you mind if we talk about something else? I just don't think I can handle anymore talk about death today."

Studying you as you speak, I notice the deep bags under your eyes and the desperation in your voice. You are broken by the weight of your emotions. Your pain is crushing you. I search for something to say that will allow you a reprieve.

"Done any flying lately?" I ask trying to find something to discuss that isn't Fred.

Your face goes blank. "What?"

"Have you done any flying lately?" I repeat.

Madame Rosmerta hands you a tall glass of firewhiskey and you down half of it without taking a breath. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you answer "Erm…a little bit, but it's been a bit hard to get much practice in. Middle of the war and all. Quidditch didn't seem very important to the Carrows."

I look back down at my drink. I'd forgotten that you were at the school suffering under the horrific treatment of the Death Eaters. Of course you haven't been flying. How stupid could I be?

My face must reflect the things I'm thinking because before I can comprehend what's happening, you're laughing uncontrollably. "Don't worry about it Angelina. Everyone forgets. Now that the wars over, I think I'd like to get back to flying. Once, a long time ago, I'd thought that I'd try out for a professional Quidditch team, but with all of the years off of a broom, I'm not sure I'd be anywhere near good enough."

"I'm sure you'd do just fine," I say with the most optimistic voice I can muster. "You always were a natural."

"What about you? What do you do now?"

I shake my head. "Job market wasn't all that great with Voldemort running the country."

You chuckle and for just a moment, I see the girl who I used to know in school.

We lapse into silence as we both finish the remains of our drinks, then a second, and then a third. Soon my head is swirling and my grasp on reality is beginning to slip.

"Perhaps you should practice..." I suggest.

"Practice what?" you slur back.

"Flying.

"Like right now?"

"Why not? We could race each other."

Your eyes light up. "But where would we find brooms?"

"Follow me," I say as a I stand and walk out of the bar, pausing only long enough to make sure you're behind me. We stumble over uneven roads and link arms to keep our balance. Our laughter rips through the stillness of the town. It seems out of place against the charred landscape.

Soon Hogwarts is in sight. From a distance, it still looks as magnificent as ever, but as we get closer, I can see the wreckage of war. Turrets have holes blown in them, walls are crumbling, and many of the windows are shattered. It's depressing to say the least, but we're drunk, so we are able to avoid the magnitude of it. We slip through the front door, which is barely hanging on its hinges.

The interior of the castle sends chills down my spine. It's a ghost of what it used to be and in the darkness odd shadows move against the wall. I flinch at some sound off in the distance, but you hardly seem to register it.

Slipping your wand from your pocket, you whisper, "Lumos."

Light makes everything seem a little less frightening and we make quick work of navigating through the hallways. We find our way to Madame Hooch's office and back out with relative ease. Had I been by myself, I couldn't have done it, but your presence makes me bold.

At the Quidditch pitch, we mount the brooms that we've commandeered and spend the night racing around the field. Even drunk, you fly better than most could ever hope to and I find myself mesmerized by your movements. It's like watching a muggle ballet. Never before have I seen anything so graceful.

"Angelina, come race me around the pitch," you plead and although I know you're a much faster flyer, I agree.

We line up and I count, "One. Two. Three."

The brooms rocket forward and we start moving at a rapid pace. Wind tears at the thin clothing I'm wearing and the long braids that I wear loosely are bouncing against my back. Sweat beads on my neck from the sheer physical exertion required to fly like this.

When I look over and see the sheer joy on your face, I decide that I'd fly like this all night if it would keep you happy. And somehow we do. Dawn is just creeping over the tree line when we begin our descent towards the ground. The last traces of alcohol are clearing from our blood and our energy is waning.

"Thanks Angelina," you say, landing softly a few feet from me.

I look down at the ground. "For what?"

"For reminding me what it's like to have fun again. It's been ages since I've felt alive. I really needed this."

"Me too," I whisper. My words hang awkwardly in the still morning air.

"You really should try out for a professional team," I add in a hurry, avoiding a prolonged silence. "You're beautiful when you fly."

"So are you. You don't give yourself enough credit."

My heart goes crazy as you reach for my hand, intertwining your fingers with mine. I look down at our hands together, trying to convince myself that this is really happening.

"You're always beautiful," I whisper. "I've always thought so."

I want to say so much more. I want to tell you about all of the years that I've pined for you, but I'm silenced as you turn and press your lips to mine. It's a gentle kiss, but it spreads fire through me from head to toe. It's everything I've ever imagined kissing you would be and somehow it's not enough all at once.

When your lips leave mine, I feel a tangible emptiness inside of me. I want to pull you back into my arms and kiss you until your lips are swollen and pink, but I restrain myself. Instead, we stand watching the sun tint the sky blood red and orange as a new day begins. Neither of us are sure of what it will bring. All I know is that I'm glad it's started with you.

* * *

 _Hi there!_

 _This story was originally posted on HPFF for the First Kiss Challenge where it won 3_ _rd_ _place. The pairing I was assigned was Ginny/Angelina. I was at a bit of a loss for how to pair them, so it did take a while. This was also my very first time writing Femslash, so I was really excited about it._

 _I'd love to know what you thought about it, so feel free to leave some feedback below. Thanks as always for reading!_

 _~Kaitlin/TreacleTart_


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